The Colour of White Walls
by Nicola Lanoire
Summary: After a tragic event, eighteen year old Christine Daaé is sent to the state mental hospital. Confused and hurt, she meets a man who can give her the answers she needs. ExC
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Don't own, therefore don't sue. Get it, Got it, Good.

**a/n: Now this story might seem a little strange to some people. I've been following this whole 'Piano Man' thing in the news and it reminds me so much of Erik somehow. This is just a weird little idea that's been bothering me for sometime now.**

The Colour of White Walls  
Prologue

White walls. For the past six weeks and counting that was all she stared at, day after day. It seemed as though the white walls were all she saw, all she dreamed of. She woke up every morning, and stared at the white walls of her bedroom whilst the nurses fed her. Then she would sit on the edge of her bed, her back to the window, staring at the same spot on the white wall until lunch time, and then again at dinner. She never moved while sitting there never once got up to go to the bathroom, never spoke to anyone nor seemed to acknowledge the world around her. The doctors said she was mentally ill, but she knew otherwise.

The white walls were just something to look at. The doctors, although they hadn't actually preformed any tests, said that she probably didn't think. She just existed, moving only to sit on the edge of the bed. But she thought. Oh, how she wanted to laugh when she heard their comments. But she never laughed. She never even smiled. How could anyone smile when they had seen what her eyes had?

At first she had been happy, viewing past memories over and over in her mind. Like in a movie, she had watched them from a distance, watching herself carefully as she relived her life. But lately, the memories seemed to become darker, and she found it harder to come back to reality each night when the lights went out. She was slipping deeper into her nightmares, her mind driving her insane. She was scared to go to sleep at night, scared to wake up in the morning.

Sometimes she could still see the glint of the knife, the blood on the walls, the cries of her parents as they grasped her hands in agony. The feeling of hopelessness and guilt. It was too much for her and she wanted to scream. But she kept staring at the white walls, wishing for it to go away. It never did. In the past three days she had seen the memory replayed over and over again. She could never forget the terror in their eyes, her breath catching in her throat when she thought that she would soon be dead.

She wanted to go home. At night when she knew nobody could see her, nobody could hear her, she wept. She wanted everything to be perfect again. She wanted to escape from the white walls and all the silence they held. She wasn't insane as they thought she was. She knew she wasn't. She could prove it to them. She wasn't sure how she could do it, but she knew it was possible. But deep in her mind, she was scared. Scared to accept the fact that her parents were dead. _Dead!_ The word was always too much. The thought of them being buried underground, maggots and worms eating at their mutilated bodies. It was too much. She couldn't do it anymore.

Not the memories, not the white walls, not the nurses. Not the unbearable silence day after day. She wasn't crazy. She wasn't insane. She could prove it. She could pretend.

She could pretend. It was her only chance.


	2. Chapter 1

Yey to my lovely few lovely reviewers who I love so much. Glad _you_ at least like this.

**Chapter One**

Her white slippers padded on the cold tile flooring of the mental illness ward as they led her down the long white hallway. Funny, how everything seemed to be white. White, and cold. Like her life at that moment. To her left and right, there would be a door every few feet, and once every few intervals, the door would open and a patient clothed in white from head to toe, led by a nurse or two clad in pale blue. Some appeared to be as normal as people she would have met in her everyday life. Others had noticeable problems- they twitched or shouted at the passing doctors. One man hummed a tune, another woman talked to an unseen friend. Each person was here for a different reason. But each person owned the same dull glint that shawn in their eyes.

Christine could dimly remember the looks on the nurses' faces when she spoke to them for the first time in a month and a half. Her voice was shaky and quiet, her vocal cords aching dully from not being used in so long. They had smiled at her and fed her, then the doctor had came in and done a check up on her. No tests, like she had expected. No questions. They had just dressed her in a simple white dress that reminded her very much of the night gown she had worn for the past countless weeks. It was cold and made her feel uncomfortable, but she had held her tongue. She had not complained.

Finally when it seemed that the hallway could not possibly stretch any longer, they turned and led her through a pair of doors on her right. Inside was a large room- white walls of course- with large barred windows. There were cold plastic tables inside and a few chairs… There appeared to be one bookshelf filled with dusty novels- apparently no one had ever read them before- sitting beside one grey couch. A few patients occupied the room, some just staring out the windows, others having quiet conversations together. One man with vibrant red hair lay stretched out on the floor, not moving a muscle.

The nurses came to stop in front of a small group of three sitting at one table, and stopped. She looked from person to person, studying their faces as one of the two nurses spoke to the three before introducing them.

"Christine, this is Madison-" A woman with mousy brown hair and thick black reading glasses lifted her hand in greeting "Carl," Carl, a man who looked old enough to be her grandfather waggled his white eyebrows at her, making her smile slightly, "and Tarantella." Christine blinked at the name and turned to a small girl who looked much younger than herself with short dark hair and a pale face.

"Tara." She spat out. Christine blinked at her again as the girl glared at the nurse. "It's Tara." The nurse chuckled slightly.

"How could I forget? Now, this is Christine, she's new here. I'd like you to make her feel at home, alright? Christine, if you need anything, just ask one of the nurses on duty. When the hour is over, I'll come and collect you." And with that, the two elderly nurses left, leaving her to stand with three strange people she had never met before. Suddenly she felt much younger than her eighteen years, and was very afraid. The man named Carl laughed and smiled at her.

"Have a seat, stay for a while! We won't bite, we promise." He said. He seemed nice enough. Chancing a slight smile, Christine sat down in one of the vacant seats, shaking from head to toe. "So what did you say your name was? Katherine?" He asked.

"Christine Daaé." She said softly, her voice barely higher than a whisper. Carl hummed.

"Ah, Kristie. Beautiful name you have Kristie!" He exclaimed. The woman named Madison rolled her eyes dramatically.

"She said her name was Christine! _Christine_! I think you need to get your ears checked old man!" She cried.

"Oh Lord, here we go again." Hissed the girl, folding her arms across her chest with a great huff. Carl rounded on the two.

"Now see here, didn't your mothers ever say to respect your elders? I was just joking with the girl, there's no harm in that is there?" He said. Christine bit her lip nervously, trying to make herself seem small.

"So you said your last name was Daaé huh? What is that? French?" Madison asked, her eyebrows raised. Christine swallowed.

"Scandinavian." She replied meekly. Madison regarded her with interest.

"No offence, but aren't Scandinavians usually a little bit more round and blonde?" She retorted. Christine shrugged, inching herself down in her chair, trying to make herself disappear.

"I-I wouldn't know." The woman frowned. Suddenly the girl spoke up.

"I heard that the Ghost is Scandinavian." She said rather matter-of-factly.

"And where did you hear that?" Asked Madison. Tara unfolded her arms and sat forwards in her chair.

"From Julie. She told me yesterday at dinner." Christine looked at the two with interest. Obviously this "Ghost" was well known.

"Oh rubbish! No one knows what or _who_ he is! That's all a bunch of lies, and you'd do best to stay out of that gossip." Cried Carl. Madison nodded her head.

"I also heard that he has a head made of death… like a living corpse!" Said Tara in an undertone, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She reminded Christine of her best friend, Meg. That girl was the biggest gossip she had ever known.

"He is no such thing. Now quit talking about him! He gives me the creeps." Said Madison, shivering. Christine looked at Tara with interest.

"A living corpse?" She asked. Madison shot her a dark look.

"Yes! It's true, he does! He's also a musician of some sorts. He plays the piano day in and day out. Never leaves his room, never eats… never says a word." Tara replied. Christine raised her eye brows at this. So he was a musician too? She had always had a deep passion for music and quite the talent for it too. Her father had been a violinist; her mother a pianist… both had taught their daughter how to sing. And although she had never had a very professional sounding voice, she could certainly carry a tune and reach the higher notes. With a sigh Christine closed her eyes, ignoring the tears that pooled there.

"Enough! I don't want to hear any more of this "Ghost" gossip." Carl said. Tara opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "Say it and I'll complain to the nurses." Glancing at a nurse that stood near-by, Tara instantly closed her mouth. Carl smiled and looked at the three in front of him.

"So, who's up for a game of cards?"


End file.
